Page 393 - Fourth Wing

flee. “What’s going on out there?”

“He’s pounding at the hall door! It’s going to give any second. We have
to go now,” Liam whisper-shouts, holding the door open as we all race into

the hallway. The map is too big for one person to carry, and Sawyer and

Imogen struggle through the doorway as the guard kicks in the door farther
down the hall.

My stomach hits the floor, and panic threatens to overwhelm logical

thought.
“And we’re fucked,” Nadine announces.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the guard shouts, charging

toward us.
“We’re dead if he catches us with the map.” Ridoc bounces on his toes

like he’s preparing to fight. On any given day, I’d argue that riders are the
superior fighters—we have to be—but that Basgiath guard might just give

us a run for our money.

“We can’t hurt him,” I protest.
The guard barrels past the first stairwell and Rhiannon steps into the

middle of the hallway, her arms outstretched.
“Please work. Please work. Please work,” Imogen chants.

The map disappears out of her hands and reappears down the hallway in

Rhiannon’s.
I barely have time to register that it worked as the guard stumbles, but he

keeps running. Any closer and he’ll see my face.

“This was not part of the plan.” Liam moves to my side.
“Adapt! Emery!” Imogen hisses, and the third-year steps to the front of

our little raiding party.

“I’m so sorry, man.” He holds out his hands and pushes. A torrent of air
rushes down the hallway, ripping tapestries from the walls and knocking

into the guard, sending him flying against the stone wall. “Run!”
We sprint down the hall toward where the guard lies limp. “Put him in